House of Horror Part II

Chapter 5: Evil Returns as a Child

The Devil Is Born

Damur stood amidst his shattered kingdom—shards of flesh and bone, and rivers of frozen blood surrounded him. The once vast Lake of Blood had dried to dust, and devastation reigned across his realm.

He stared at the ruins that had consumed his empire, his eyes burning with rage and sorrow. Then, from the wreckage, a small elf emerged—a creature resembling an infant, yet bearing the aura of something ancient that had guided me.

The infant elf gazed at the mighty king with eyes that glowed red in the darkness.

Damur took a great stride forward and said in a thunderous, echoing voice,

"Where did you come from, bloodthirsty devil?"

The small elf raised its head and answered in a terrifying, crowded voice that seemed to crawl from the depths of hell,

"I was born from the corpses of slain elves... and from what remained of human blood." Damur's lips curved into a dark smile as he spoke:

"I shall name you Gamur. You rise in the blood that stirs, you kill among men, and you boil where blood runs." The name Gamur carried both mystery and blood—Gam from "mystery," and Mur from the "boiling blood" that flows through veins. And so Gamur was born—a demonic spirit with an insatiable thirst for killing, an unholy lust for blood.

The mighty King Damur stretched his long arms toward the child, pressing himself against it. Gamur leaped with a demonic movement onto Damur's massive back. At that moment, flames blazed around them, and the king rose upward—into the black sky beneath the earth. There are seven layers of the underworld, and within the first—the closest to the surface—Gamur's kingdom would rise. There, evil would begin its ascent once more.

—The Ascent of Damur

The sky was shrouded in black clouds, and the moon was hidden behind a thick fog that seemed poised to burst forth with rain and curses. From the depths of the earth, Damur, the blood-born king of the elves, Like a dark mountain cleaving its way toward the human world, it emerged from a cracked chasm that spewed red smoke, as if the very heart of the earth were bleeding.

Its enormous body slumped in molten fire and homogeneous blood, and when it roared, its sound shook the walls of night.

On its shoulders sat Gamor, the newborn elf—small in stature, yet his eyes burned with the same infernal glow that had consumed his master. He clung to Gamor's shoulder like a shadow forged from rage, staring at the world below with a hunger he had yet to comprehend.

Above ground, the city slept beneath a cloak of darkness. Not a sound was heard except the hiss of the wind slipping between the cracks of the ancient buildings.

In a distant alley, Subhi Rizk, a truck driver, lay fast asleep in his cramped room. His steady breathing was like dull fangs, and his dreams wandered the rough roads he drove every day.

But suddenly—the air changed.

An unfamiliar chill swept through the room.

The wall before him split open like a wound in reality itself, and from it emerged Damor, in all his monstrous grandeur, filled the room until the ceiling seemed ready to collapse.

On his massive back, Gamor, sporting a sinister grin dripping with both blood and lust, sat.

Then, in one swift motion, the creature leaped from the king's shoulder like a flaming arrow and landed directly on Sobhi's chest.

The man didn't even have time to open his eyes—Gamor sank his fangs deep into his skull and engulfed his entire head, crimson blood spurting across the walls like red rain.

The room trembled, the bed shook violently, and Gamor's laughter pierced the silence—sharp, metallic, and cursed, echoing through the neighborhood like a steel scream.

His laughter carried an electric resonance, a frequency that seeped into human minds and made their bodies tremble without them knowing why.

Outside, a neighbor was startled and heard the faint echo of laughter drifting through the empty streets. He thought it was just the wind... or perhaps a cat crying in the dark—and w

Sunday Morning

The Sunday sun had climbed high, sending golden rays of light through the chalet's wide windows, bathing the living room in a lazy, warm glow.

The air was thick with the aroma of coffee mingled with the faint lingering scent of last night's liquor—the aftermath of noise, laughter, and forgotten promises.

Malik sat on the sofa, leaning back in quiet contemplation, the phone pressed to his ear.

His voice was calm, measured—the kind of calm that masks a storm within.

"I'm sorry, Madam Awatif. We won't be able to come to the villa today... Perhaps Friday would be better."

Awatif's voice came through the speaker—soft but tired, carrying the same aristocratic coolness he was used to.

"As you wish, Shadi. You can come on Friday after that."

"Thank you, Madam Awatif."

He ended the call slowly, then tossed the phone toward Daniel, who sat across from him—shirtless, sipping his coffee with lazy indifference. Malik smiled faintly, running his fingers through his hair.

"Calling her from Shadi's phone was a brilliant idea... she didn't suspect a thing."

Daniel chuckled, took another sip, and replied with smug amusement,

"We still have all his belongings... He hasn't needed them since he died."

Malik's gaze darkened for a moment—shadows of thought flickered behind his eyes.

Then he asked quietly,

"Dima and the girls... are they still asleep?"

Daniel placed the glass back on the table and stretched lazily.

They won't be awake before noon.

Last night was brutal. We went through more than a hundred bottles of liquor.

"I'm still feeling dizzy." Suddenly, the hallway door opened. Rovan stepped out, followed by Magda, Dima, and Lara—their steps slow, their bodies wrapped in nightgowns, their hair and eyes heavy but sparkling with that quiet, dangerous allure that lingers after so much pleasure. They paused at the edge of the living room, exchanged languid glances, and knew smiles—as if last night's debauchery was merely a prelude to another day of indulgence. Daniel smiled shyly, a sideways glance at Malik. "What do you say? Are we going back to Saturday?

We have plenty of time before Friday comes." Malik didn't answer. He stood up slowly, crossed the room to Dima, who smiled shyly, and gently placed his hand against her cheek before kissing her—a deliberately deep kiss that made the other women smile in silent complicity. The moment hung in the air—the calm before the storm. Somewhere beyond the chalet walls, the world held its breath... unaware that the darkness was already stirring.